3rd March: Northumberland

Another Friday and another off for the next round of the CTS series… This time Northumberland. I managed to finish work at a reasonably decent time, but with all the fiddling and faffing I did not leave the gaff till 6, with the journey's time to Bamburgh Castle being a good 7.5 hours according to bing maps I knew it would easily be past midnight by the time I got there.

As I merged on to the M25 to head round it from the M40 to the A1 there was a car on its side facing the wrong way down the carriageway up against the central reservation crash barrier. This had reduced the traffic to walking pace and got me thinking about the drive to the Pembrokeshire race with the spun car in the middle of the rain sodden M4 and got me wondering about omens and also the fact that so long as I get there safe there's no point in rushing; you arrive when you get there and not a moment before.

I finally arrived without further incident at Bamburgh Castle, drove up to the car park and found it locked-up. Fortunately there was another open one beneath the castle and I was able to pull-up in the frosty night for a kip. I went for a quick stretch of my legs before hand serenaded by the Kittiwake's still awake from the glow of the night-lights of the castle illuminations.

The next morning I awoke to this:

The Castle from the car park below

The CTS Northumberland race is the only one on their calendar that is a point-to-point race. They use the finish of Bamburgh Castle as the base for the event so it was here for registration on a beautifully clear morning, if a little chilly, with the wind whipping in off the North Sea from Scandinavia throwing up a nice bit of surf from the breakers on the reefs between the shore and the Farne Islands.

The distant Farne Islands

After registration we awaited our bus for the transportation to the starting point of Alnwick Castle. The route is from here back to Bamburgh Castle, following the river to the coast and then hitting the coastal path northwards to the end via the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle. The route is as flat as anything gets on one of their courses with the biggest hill being a quick blast up around 20ft or so and can be summed-up as a steady trek along the lined of castle, golf course, beach, castle, golf course, beach, castle.

The registration was within the castle itself, a sight I had not visited since I was about 10 years old on a holiday journey up to the grandparent's in Perth. Back then it was blowing a gale and hammering it down with rain so all I really remember is being cold and wet wandering around the exhibits for what seemed an eternity. I would have liked to have a good wander around the castle as an appreciative adult but timing wise I knew this was not going to be a goer.

Some photos of the castle taken whilst milling around.

Up here spring has not quite sprung and a quick look inland towards the Cheviot's you can see a matter of a few miles away the hill-tops still crested with the winter's snow.

The Cheviot's

After breakfasting on a cup of black coffee and flapjacks I hit the bus with my fellow marathoners and off we drove to Alnwick Castle. Unfortunately they do not allow an early start for us slow-pokes with the ultra runners so it was a massed start of two coaches worth of runners carrying the field of 85.

All aboard!

The start line was in a field overlooked by Hogwarts - the castle stands-in as the filmic representation of the school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Alnwick Castle aka 'Hogwarts'

We were given the briefing here which was much more easy-going than the other two I have attended. It could be surmised by: Follow the river to the coast, make sure the sea is on your right and you'll get there eventually. We were cautioned about our iPods and instant disqualification if we are spotted running along roads with them in our ears… Unfortunately in my haste to leave the previous evening I had left my iPod on my desk so all I had for companionship was my iPhone loaded with podcasts still to be listened to rather than music. And en-masse all 85 of us were under starter's orders for the point-to-point gallop.

Briefing

The start

Within 15 minutes of starting I had to stop due to an equipment failure!.. To compete in the CTS series you are supposed to run with a survival kit: Foil blanket, whistle, first aid kit as well as being self-sufficient in hydration and nutrition, plus wear a jacket and a hat - although you can take a judge on the weather about jacket and hat. Unfortunately due to the small nature of the hydration back-pack I sport there is not enough room within it for the small kit bag, so I have to strap it to the webbing on the back of the pack. By the time I had finished the South Devon race I had nearly worn-through the sewn-on loops of the bag through the rubbing and friction of several hour's worth of running, so I had asked LSS to make an adaptation to it for us of a strap across the back of it to attach in a different manner and take the stress off the sewn-on loops… Unfortunately the way I had attached it meant that it started flapping free after a while and I heard my emergency phone fall out as the movement had caused the zip to undo. It cost me a good 5 minutes of time as I had to re-attach everything in a different manner before recommencing - and I noticed that I was missing the whistle and the tube of Deep Heat I had put in there with no sign of either nearby on the floor, so I had to re-start hoping that I would not need the Deep Heat for any muscle problems. Also the strap attached by LSS had been sawn half-through already due to how things had been attached.

The trek to the coast was pretty flat and unremarkable, traversing fields as we roughly followed the river… Which we had to ford! We were warned in the briefing that it was getting on for about waist high for a 6ft man and fairly fast flowing, so we were urged to help across any that needed it through their diminutive stature!

As we descended to the crossing-point we waded through the mud to the water's edge and I caught-up with a couple in their 50's who were racing. The husband had crossed already leaving his wife behind who exclaimed surprise at what we were confronted with. Doing the decent thing I asked her if she wanted to hold-on to me and cross together, an offer she gratefully accepted and across we waded. Dear god it was cold and as soon as the first bit of icy water brushed me twig and berries up they sprinted in to my body! As we crossed, the lady's husband was looking at us taking photos and laughing at the sight of his wife clinging on for dear life to a stranger, the cheeky beggar.

Soon after the wading we came across the railway viaduct and ran beneath one of its spans which seemed to be a good 50ft above us. A fascinating piece of engineering from the Victorian era. As I looked back across it I was able to watch one of the Inter-City trains thunder past over it.

In no time we were arriving in Alnmouth after about 10k of the run, jogging along the estuary with all the waders and gulls, notably the very noticeable oystercatchers, curlews and kittiwakes all larking in the mud. True to the briefing, when we hit the coast we turned northwards and along the coastal path where the scenery turned to what we wanted to see; the powerful majesty of the coastline. As we jogged it changed from rocky cliff to sandy beech - with one stretch traversing a solid mile of beach from south to north as we approached Boulmer.

Running the beech: the dot in the middle of the pic is the rescue helicopter

RAF Boulmer is one of the UK's Air-Sea Rescue bases and as we neared we were treated to the sights of them out practicing over the sea and hovering over the runway with the winch man dangling and proved to be an interesting distraction from the monotony of the run over the stretch of featureless hard sand.

As we left the beach and made our way back on to the coastal path I passed the following sculpture sitting atop the wall of a field.

It was shortly after this that I felt myself cramping-up in my left groin just around the end of the support shorts that I wear whilst running. Cursing that I had lost my Deep Heat I took some time-out to massage the cramping which I hoped would sort it out and not worsen with the distance still to traverse, or even be a strain or pull that could not be managed.

After traversing the first golf course we came to the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle, owned by the National Trust these days all that is left is a beautiful sight, almost oasis like in solitude on its hill on a headland, which we ran around the west side of:

Soon we got our first teasing sight of Bamburgh Castle off in the distance with the knowledge that whilst it was now in sight, it was a good 13 miles away! After running on top of the dunes and across another golf course and a couple of small villages we got to Seahouses with its famous lifeboat station and the legend of Grace Darling. Coming in to Seahouses I ran for a brief while with a lady sporting one of the prestigious CTS 7x shirts. These are only awarded to those who manage to complete 7 races in their season, although the races can be a mix of all distances. I told her that I took my hat off to her ability to achieve that and she informed me that she completed 7 of the half marathons last year and this year she decided she would give a try to marathons with this being the first. The plan being that if she managed this one without too much of a problem then she would step-up to do them next year seeing as she was already familiar with what to expect in general for terrain, its just a case of getting her fitness up to be able to complete the distances.

Leaving behind Seahouses this marked the last section of the run, up along the beach the whole way to Bamburgh Castle; only the matter of another 3 miles to the end! As we ran along the beach I saw this poor thing washed-up by the high-tide mark.

It must have been one of this year's pup's from the Farne Island seal colony. I've never seen a grey seal in the wild and unfortunately it still remains so as a dead one doesn't count unfortunately.

The wind had started to pick-up on this last energy sapping leg across the mixture of rock, pebble and sand blowing straight in to us. The weather up to this point had been really good with the sun shining continuously and a bit of feeble warmth from the sun to make it easier on us. but the wind was now blowing in low cloud making the visibility decrease and with the sun getting lower you could tell that darkness was only a matter of a couple of hours away. Struggling through this headwind the castle ever so slowly increasing in size, eventually I reached the black flag signalling to turn left and to ascend the dunes and in to the castle and the finish.

Exhausted I collected my finisher's dog-tag and red wrist-band and sat down to gain my composure. After a change and a post-race snack of scotch-eggs and recovery shakes it was time to return home. I promised myself that I would get a chance to see the 'Angel of the North' by driving past it in daylight, rather than the darkness of the journey up, as it is a sight I have always wanted to see and unmissable as the A1 travels directly below it. Shortly after I pulled over in the next services for an hour's sleep as I could feel myself starting to nod. Waking in darkness I drove the rest of the way home arriving mentally and physically cream-crackered around midnight.